


New Traditions

by HamletsProzac



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Christmas, Crying During Sex, Discussion of Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Recall, ass eating, discussion of chilldhood trauma, foot kissing, happy crying but still, sensual massage, showering together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 18:53:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9002590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HamletsProzac/pseuds/HamletsProzac
Summary: McHanzo week 2016. Day 7: Holiday Season"It’s one of the first things Hanzo learns about Jesse – that he will take any excuse to throw a party, and demands everyone else get into the holiday spirit, no matter how insignificant or asinine the occasion may be. On Christmas Eve, Jesse is nowhere to be seen."Rated E for the second chapter only.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever completed fic, and I'm so excited to share it! A few things:  
> -I tried to make this as compliant with the comic canon as I could. The thought is that the two page spread takes place over multiple days during the holiday season, rather than on Christmas Day itself. If that's relevant to anyone.  
> -Only the second chapter has sexual content. If you'd like to avoid it, only read the first chapter. It's a complete story on it's own, and the second chapter is pretty much just emotional smut.

On Valentine’s Day, Jesse McCree dresses as Cupid and hosts a mock speed dating night in the longue.

On St. Patrick’s Day, Jesse McCree makes it his personal mission to 1) thoroughly check that everyone is wearing what he deems an acceptable amount and shade of green, and 2) get every single person on the base as drunk as possible without needing to visit Mercy in med bay.

On the Fourth of July, Hanzo cannot sleep until 3 in the morning, because despite America being literally an entire ocean away, Jesse needs an excuse to celebrate and blow shit up. (At least it made Fawkes happy.)

Halloween is just as much of a disaster as all the rest, and Hanzo cannot understand why they all humor him.

Then Thanksgiving comes around, and he gets an inkling. Jesse almost singlehandedly makes a full spread for everyone at the Watchpoint and then some, including traditional dishes to honor all the different cultures present. Hanzo watches him from the corner of his eye after dinner. Everyone is dancing and telling stories around the synthesized campfire, but Jesse just sits in an armchair. He seems content to watch and sip his whiskey.

It’s one of the first things Hanzo learns about Jesse – that he will take any excuse to throw a party, and demands everyone else get into the holiday spirit, no matter how insignificant or asinine the occasion may be.

On Christmas Eve, Jesse is nowhere to be seen.

*****

Hanzo arrives home from a mission early on the morning of the 24th, near the sunrise. He, for some unfathomable and god-forsaken reason, had been chosen to do backup security for some ritzy gala in the States, as a show of faith in Overwatch. It was grueling, but necessary, and Hanzo was honored that he could be trusted with such a mission. But the lights of the Watchpoint glow, and it feels more like home than anything else ever has.

Well, almost more than anything. Jesse is there, too.

He tries not to expect Jesse to be waiting for him outside when the cab drops him off, but he can’t quite stifle his disappointment when he doesn’t spy the cowboy hat. The base is quiet; barring an emergency, they are off Christmas Eve until the day after New Year’s. Tonight they will celebrate together, as a team, before going their separate ways. Hanzo slips through the base and into bed, hoping to rest before getting roped into whatever Jesse undoubtedly has planned for the day.  He’s almost glad to have missed the worst of Jesse’s holiday frenzy by being away, though his wind-chapped hands and sunburned shoulders would beg to differ. Just before he falls asleep, he texts Jesse to let him know that he will be up in a few hours, he is home as planned, and will likely sleep much of the day to recuperate. (For good measure, Hanzo sends one to Genji, too, letting him know he is home safely. A gesture.)

He does not have a reply from Jesse when he wakes at 3 pm. He has likely been too busy preparing for their celebration. Hanzo allows himself a small, private smile. He puts himself through a gentle cycle of yoga, body heavy from too much sleep during the wrong time of day. He heads to the kitchen to make himself dinner, or perhaps partake of whatever heavy, indulgent fair Jesse is no doubt working on.

As soon as he opens his door, he can hear Christmas music drifting through the dormitories. He cannot help but smile again. Though Christmas was never an important day in his old life, perhaps it can be in his new.

The common room is decorated simply – tastefully, even. Apparently someone gave Jesse a talk about restraint. (The base had been sparkling for months in the wake of Mardi Gras.) There are strands twinkling lights and a small Christmas tree, a few garlands, but nothing in Jesse’s usual style. Jesse isn’t there either, but he is not the only one absent. Genji and Zenyatta are talking quietly at the window seat, and Hanzo stares curiously at their joined hands for a moment. Dr. Ziegler – Angela, Genji has insisted he call her – is talking with Reinhardt, Lucio, and Hana while she sips her afternoon tea. Hanzo is happy to let the quiet conversation and music flow over him as he waits for Jesse to appear from the kitchen. He settles onto the couch on Angela’s other side. He entertains himself by imagining Jesse in a florid red apron, designed to make him look like Santa Claus, wrapped over his usual flannel.

Five minutes pass. Then another five, then ten. Hanzo has to swallow down an uneasy feeling in his stomach – _where is he?_

He forces himself to relax, closing his eyes and taking a deep, calming inhale. _You are simply anxious to see him again. He will be here in a moment._ When he opens his eyes again, Angela is looking at him from the corner of her eye. He shoulders stiffen, but he pretends not to notice.

The sound of Jesse’s name draws his focus back into the room.

“Where did Jesse say he was going?” Lena is asking – she is dressed like an elf, and a smudge of flour adorns her nose. She is standing in the doorway that leads to the kitchen – she must have entered just to ask.

“I don’t know that he did,” Lucio comments absently, comparing something on his holovid with something on Hana’s.  

“I think he said he wanted whiskey for the egg nog,” Fareeha says from where she is curled in an armchair in the corner. Hanzo hadn’t noticed her come in, nor Mei who is seated next to her.

Lucio grins. “Typical cowboy, amiright?” He waggles his eyebrows in Hanzo’s direction.

Lena nods, and consults a piece of paper in her hands. “I was wondering if he could find somewhere to get some cinnamon. We don’t have as much as I thought we did,” she says ruefully, fishing her phone out of a pocket sewn into her costume. (On anyone else, it would be garish and ill fitting; however, as is always the case with Lena, on her it looks perfect.) She holds it to her ear, waiting. Hanzo is surprised when she pulls a face and puts it back into her pocket without getting an answer. “Athena says his comm is off. Oh well! What we have will have to do!” She scurries back to the kitchen, humming, a little off key.

“I’m surprised Jesse is still here,” Angela says quietly.

“What do you mean?” Hanzo asks. _Where the hell else would he be, it’s Christmas_ , he thinks sullenly.

“Yeah, I remember he wasn’t big on Christmas,” Fareeha adds off-handedly, without looking up from her tablet.

“Jesse usually took assignments over Christmas,” Angela continues carefully. “He always said he didn’t mind taking on the extra work so that we could all visit our families.”

“He didn’t want to visit his?” Hana asks without looking up from the screen she and Lucio are now sharing.

Genji looks up from his conversation with Zenyatta. “Jesse has never celebrated Christmas.”

Hanzo can no longer repress the uneasy feeling in his stomach. Before he can think of how to respond, Hana does.

“McCree doesn’t do Christmas? I never would have guessed,” she says, giving Angela a questioning look. Angela hesitates, then nods. Hana raises an eyebrow and pops her tongue. “I guess that’s why he didn’t want to do Secret Santa, then.”

Hanzo cannot keep himself from frowning. _Jesse McCree_ didn’t want to do Secret Santa? Even _he_ had done Secret Santa. (He had done quite well, too. Winston had assured him that Lena and her girlfriend would adore the traditional tea set, along with a lesson in Japanese brewing and ceremonial serving.)

“That does not sound like Jesse,” is all he says.

“I find it strange as well,” Zenyatta says. At the omnics admission, Hanzo’s heart starts to race. Zenyatta rarely offered his opinion in this sort of discussion, always claiming not to know anyone well enough to offer a worthwhile or fair point of view. “He has never shirked from holidays before. In the past, I have been quite certain he was making them up in order to have an occasion to celebrate.”

Genji tilts his head, and though he’s wearing his visor, (which has been programmed, along with the rest of the lights on his suit, to garishly flash red and green) Hanzo gets the distinct impression he’s being looked at. “Perhaps when Jesse returns, we can ask him.” Hanzo _knows_ he isn’t saying everything he could, but can’t organize his thoughts to question him past the heavy, shaking feeling in his chest.

With Genji’s words, everyone mumbles an agreement and goes back to their activities. Hanzo couldn’t focus on the chatter even if he wanted to – every battle instinct he has is threatening to go off, and Hanzo takes another steadying breath. No one else seems to be worried, so why should he be?

 

 

Three hours later with no sign of Jesse, Hanzo curses himself for a fool.

He tried to train, three separate times between bouts of restless that goes so deep his bones ache, but each session is worse than the last. He cannot focus, try as he might to bend his will. But he _needs_ to see Jesse. Alarm bells are going off in his head; they have been separated for too long, and Hanzo knows it’s irrational, but he needs to see him again to know that he is okay, to _hold_ him. The sentimentality would normally frustrate him, but now, in his post-mission fatigue and the Watchpoint’s comforting holiday glow, all Hanzo can think is _He should be here. He should be with me._ The words of his colleagues run through his mind and distract him, send his arrows off-target.

Jesse McCree, a Scrooge. Jesse didn’t want to participate in Secret Santa. McCree doesn’t ‘do’ Christmas.

By the time he finally gives up on practice, his hands are shaking so badly he misses the target entirely. An irrational, selfish part of him is tempted to demand Athena to declare Jesse missing so Hanzo has an excuse to tear the city apart looking for him. Instead, he makes his way back to the common room.

The room is full, every member of the newly founded and recalled Overwatch accounted for, except for Jesse McCree. The music is louder now, and everyone is snacking from a fully laden table that Lena and Symmetra are hovering over. Genji’s lights are still dancing merrily. Hanzo wants to laugh, really, he does, but he can’t. Everyone looks up expectantly at him when he enters, and Hanzo tries not to hold it against them.

 “Any word from Jesse?” Mei addresses him.

Hanzo manages not to growl at her. “No.”

Mei only sighs and resettles back into Zarya’s side. “I was afraid of that.”

The silence that follows presses on him until he thinks he feels his eardrums flutter. It lingers and claws. Normally, in situations like this, Hanzo would ground himself with Jesse’s hand in his, Jesse’s voice in his ear, but Jesse is not here. _Surely_ , he is unsafe. Athena has an emergency protocol for heart rate spikes and elevated temperatures, but surely it must have failed. Hanzo wants to say he will leave, go find him and bring him home, but before he can -

Ana breaks the silence. “Jesse – McCree – has always spent this time of year alone,” she says heavily, studying her glass of deep-red wine. “As long as I have known him, at any rate.”

“I remember that, now that I’m thinking about it,” Fareeha says next to her. “I remember him being holed up in his room, once.”

Jack sniffs derisively. “With a bottle of whiskey. I remember that year.” (Someone has convinced Jack to wear an absolutely hideous sweater, and Hanzo can _feel_ Jesse laughing at it. His heart sinks a little lower.)

Jack doesn’t notice it, but the room gets somber at this new piece of information. Hanzo watches various pairs exchange nervous glances – Angela and Reinhardt, Ana and Fareeha, Mei and Lena. Apparently, Jesse’s absence has irked them as well.

“In any case,” Winston says firmly, and Hanzo is both grateful and disappointed that Winston cuts off this train of conversation before he can learn more, “it is getting late. It may be wise to activate Athena’s tracker to check up on him.” No one finds it relevant to mention that Jesse specializes in covert operations, and never goes anywhere without Peacekeeper; the odds of his being in danger or lost are slim to none.

Athena’s cool voice cuts in over the cheery song that’s playing. “I did not mention this earlier, as Agent McCree asked me not to,” and Hanzo would _swear_ she sounds guilty, “but Agent McCree has been in his room for the past two hours. He asked me not to tell anyone his location unless he was specifically asked for, or if there was an emergency.”

Hanzo expects a burst of chatter, but it doesn’t come. The only sound left in the room is tinkering bells from the song. Hanzo is tempted to smash the radio, but when he looks around he can’t find the source.

“Genji,” Hanzo says, standing. He speaks in rapid Japanese, hoping that no one else is adept enough to understand him. “Did Jesse tell you anything about why he doesn’t celebrate Christmas?”

Genji nods, once. “He said that it reminds him of his family. The memories were not happy ones.” The lights dance merrily across his visor. “I knew the look in his eyes too well, brother.” Hanzo gives a curt nod and stands. “Wait-“ slips out in English, but he switches again. “What you will find may be difficult to deal with.” Hanzo waits for him to continue, but he realizes that Genji is at a loss to explain any further.

Hanzo goes. He gives in to the terror that has been clawing at him since he arrived home that morning. He runs from the room, ignoring any attempt to stop him. Jesse needs him.

 

 

He has to knock 3 times before Jesse answers.

And he doesn’t even answer – Hanzo just hears a grunt that is loud enough.

“Jesse, I would like to see you. I have been away for too long,” Hanzo says, fighting to keep his tone pleasant against the way his heart is racing. Hanzo holds his breath while he waits for a response.

“Come in, then.” Hanzo tries not to read too much into his distant, resigned tone.

The sight that greets him is not as bad as he had feared, but the fog in his chest thickens as he sees Jesse for the first time in a week. He is rolled into a ball on his side, facing the wall. He is wearing his least favorite pair sweatpants, and the sheets are half-off the bed beneath him. His metal arm is on the desk, Peacekeeper unloaded and halfway through being cleaned next to it. The room is in its usual unkempt state, but there are no food wrappings strewn about, and none in the garbage can either. Hanzo cannot tell when he last bathed, but his hair is greasy and Hanzo can smell sweat, faintly. It’s not his normal sweat – not the one he smells when Jesse pulls him in for a kiss on the battlefield, or when Jesse returns from sparring, or when they fuck. This smell is sharper and harsher on his nose; it is the smell of fear.

“Sorry, darlin’,” he mutters, without moving. “I’m a mess.” Hanzo settles himself on the edge of the mattress. Hanzo is torn between his desire to touch him, to comfort him, to feel his skin and warmth after so long separated, to draw him away from whatever has caused _this,_ and Jesse’s obvious desire to be left alone.

“I merely wished to see you,” Hanzo assures. He stares resolutely at Jesse’s face, though it is hidden behind his lank hair and pressed into the crumpled pillow. “I want to know why you were not there to greet me when I came home.” Hanzo vices down on the panicked flutter that his stomach gives.

Jesse screw his face up and buries further it into the pillow. His shoulders shake, and then Hanzo sees it – Jesse is curled around a half empty bottle of whiskey, and he is drunk. Not loose-limbed and happy drunk, but the drunk Hanzo has only seen on him a few times when he lets himself get sad, thinking about Reyes or other demons Hanzo has not been introduced to yet. Hanzo cannot help it anymore – he reaches out to place his hand on Jesse’s calf.

Jesse doesn’t react at all. “I’m sorry, darlin’. Time gets away from me sometimes, this time of year.” He sounds so far away, so unlike how he should, and Hanzo feels his heart seize in his chest. He cannot take it anymore.

“Jesse, what is wrong?” Hanzo’s voice finally breaks.

That snaps him out of it. Jesse lurches up, hand grabbing at Hanzo’s shoulders, trying to tip tipping Hanzo’s chin up so Jesse can meet his eyes. “Aw, baby, no – don’t.” Jesse puts the bottle on the floor and moves to take Hanzo in his arms.

Hanzo holds him at arm’s length. “Jesse, you have lied about where you have been, and you are not acting like yourself. And you did not even attempt to see me even though you knew I was home.” Hanzo hates how plaintive and small and _petty_ he sounds.

“I know, I’m sorry.” Jesse’s voice is wavering, too, but Hanzo cannot look at him, cannot risk losing his resolve. This is _important_. “I just. Had a bad few says, while you were away, that’s all.”

“Bullshit,” Hanzo bites out in reply. “That is not good enough.”

“Christmas just isn’t a good time of year for me.”

“Why?” Hanzo says flatly. He can feel himself slipping despite Genji’s warning, but he is powerless to stop, too caught, too torn up in _why weren’t you there what’s wrong why can’t you tell me it’s_ me _Jesse_ please _._

“Because we all have our shit?” he replies desperately, hand clinging to Hanzo’s shoulder. Hanzo scoffs and almost pulls away. “It’s not important. It’s just something I have to deal with. Tell me how the mission went-“

“Enough,” Hanzo interrupts. Jesse falls silent and pulls away. “Jesse. You have never, in the entire time I have known you, acted it a way that could not eventually be explained. I have chosen to believe that that is the case now. I have already forgiven you for avoiding me all day,” Jesse’s hands clench into fists, “but I have a right to know why.”

“Why what?” Jesse says, petulant.

“Why you have done _this!”_ Hanzo snaps, and so does the last of his patience. He stands abruptly as he rages on. “Why you _lied_ to everyone. Why you are hiding, as if you have done something wrong.” He’s getting loud, now, nearly shouting down at Jesse’s huddled figure. “Why you felt that this – sulking and _drinking_ yourself to death – was an appropriate course of action. Why you felt that no one, not Angela, not Genji, not _me,_ would understand. Why you, of all people, don’t fucking celebrate _Christmas_.” Hanzo finishes his tirade with a few angry muttered phrases in Japanese. And then his heart breaks neatly into pieces.

He didn’t notice – he was too upset, too angry to realize that – Jesse has curled back onto his side, in a fetal position, facing away from Hanzo. No, not in a fetal position. His arm is curled around his face, and his legs are drawn tight to his stomach. He is as small as he can make himself, and his shoulders are quivering with the force of maintaining the position. It’s a defensive position, one he recognizes from the boxing ring.

Jesse is _protecting_ himself. From Hanzo.

Hanzo fights the panic. It has already overtaken him twice – he cannot succumb again. Jesse needs him.

“Jesse, I am sorry,” Hanzo murmurs, kneeling beside the bed. His hands float uncertainly in the air, unsure where to touch him first. Hanzo eventually settles for the curve of Jesse’s strong back, bowed fiercely over his knees.

Jesse flinches away.

“Jesse-”

“Gimme a minute,” he grits out. Hanzo wrings his hands tightly together, and waits.

Eventually, Jesse begins to breathe again. His shoulders slowly, slowly, slowly unknot – not all the way, but Hanzo can see his ears again. He shudders on every inhale and pants out harshly through his nose. Suddenly, so suddenly Hanzo is shocked by it, all the tension drains from his body at once, and Jesse flops over onto his back. Hanzo keeps waiting, eyes focused and darting around Jesse’s body, trying to take in every detail and shift.

Jesse reaches over and puts his hand on Hanzo’s clenched ones. Hanzo wrenches his gaze to Jesse’s face, but Jesse isn’t looking at him. Jesse’s eyes are closed, and his lips are playing at a smile. “I’m okay now,” he says, voice creaky but he sounds more like himself. “Get up here.”

Hanzo scrambles at the chance. Jesse scoots up, and Hanzo settles behind him. Hanzo leans against the wall and Jesse rests his back to Hanzo’s chest. Hanzo wraps his arms around Jesse as tight as he dares.

“I’m okay, darlin’,” Jesse laughs, hooking his hand on Hanzo’s forearm.

“Jesse, I am so sorry – I forgot myself. I never should have lost control while you are so obviously distraught. Please, forgive me.” Hanzo says it all in one breath, and is drawing another to continue with Jesse interrupts him.

“You’re forgiven, Hanzo. Breathe, baby,” Jesse chides. It’s only his relaxed tone that enables Hanzo to comply.

For a few long minutes, they just breathe together. Hanzo revels in the feeling of Jesse’s skin, his scent, his thick weight. _This_ is what Hanzo had been desperate for, while he was away, every time he is away, recently. Hanzo lets himself indulge, pouring his apology into gentle kisses and soothing, grounding touches.

Hanzo breaks the silence first. “Tell me.”  

Hanzo watches Jesse’s jaw clench, tight. He manages to relax enough to say, “There’s nothin’ to tell.” Hanzo just waits, rubbing his thumb across some old, semi-circular scars on Jesse’s arms. Eventually, Jesse huffs out a sigh. “I’ve never told anyone before.” Hanzo’s already broken heart cracks again at his tone. He sounds _scared_ – the irrational, unexplainable terror of a child.

“I am here to listen, and help if I can. But I think we both know that your methods of coping have been unsuccessful thus far.”

Jesse snorts a laugh, and Hanzo wants to drown in the sound. “Why ya always gotta sound like a fuckin’ Jane Austen novel.” Hanzo humors him with a chuckle that he knows Jesse will feel against his back. But he doesn’t say anything else – just waits. Jesse will not back down from this, not now. Hanzo knows it in his bones.

But all Jesse says when he opens his mouth is, “I don’t even know where to fuckin’ start.”

Hanzo nods. “The beginning? I am in no rush.”

Jesse scoffs and shakes his head. “There _ain’t_ no beginnin’. And there ain’t no end, either, not til I joined up with Deadlock.” Hanzo nods again. Jesse takes a deep, sobering breath. “My daddy and yours probably wouldn’ta got along. Not cause mine was nice or anythin’ – they probably woulda hated each other on principle. My daddy was a mean, old son of a bitch, and my poor stupid momma only gave him one kid to take it out on. She left before he had to chance to saddle her with more. She said she was gonna come back, but she got killed ‘fore I had a chance to decide if I was waitin’ for her or not.

“Didn’t stop her shithead brothers from checkin’ up on me every chance they got. Had to see how Cara’s pup was doin’.” Jesse swallows thickly, and in the pause Hanzo realizes that Jesse has never said his mother’s name before. “My uncles, they uh, owned a big ranch outside of town, just about the only lucrative operation in the county. They had a lot of money, and could pretty much do and say whatever the fuck they wanted. That wasn’t a problem for most people – they didn’t mess with much that didn’t mess with them – but not my daddy. Can’t say I blame him though – my uncles blamed my dad for my momma dyin’. Still burns me up that I agree with ‘em, but I do. The whole town knew and took my uncles side, cause they weren’t fuckin’ stupid, and started givin’ my dad a rough time about it. But see, my daddy knew they were right too, and he hated em for it. Started to hate me as a way o’ dealin’ with it. Or maybe he always hated me, I don’t know.” Hanzo has to wait a long time before Jesse speaks again. Hanzo fills it by rubbing hands along the tops of Jesse’s arms and measuring his breathing.

“He beat the shit out of me every chance he got – every time he got drunk or high or whatever the fuck else. When that stopped buggin’ me, he started the verbal abuse, too. Fucker had me so twisted up, he coulda told me I shot my momma in the head and I’da apologized for it. He’d kick the shit out of me so bad I’d be out of school for days. Someone musta known, but no one wanted to get in the way, I guess.” Another hard swallow, and Hanzo feels Jesse shake in his arms. He makes a few comforting noises in his ear, but Jesse presses on.

“The drinkin’ and the heroin caught up with him when I was 14. He died on Christmas Eve. I found him – called my uncles because I didn’t know any other grownups.” Hanzo catches the ghost of a rueful smile in his tone. “They took one look at the place, at my beat up, busted face, and laughed.” Jesse shivers. “That’s still the worst. That damn laugh. Sounded like fuckin’ coyotes

“I was sure they were gonna turn me over to foster care, but they just took me to the ranch. Let me keep goin’ to school, gave me my own room. Made me work some but it was like heaven. They beat up on me every once in a while, but it was nothin’ compared to what I was used to. Put their cigarettes out on me when I mouthed off. But I thought they were _normal_.” As Jesse says that, Hanzo runs his fingers absently over the circular scars on Jesse’s half-arm. Hanzo feels bile rise abruptly; he chokes it down with his anger. _Jesse. This is about Jesse_. He repeats it as a mantra as Jesse continues.

“Christmas eve of that first year rolled around. There was gonna be a big party at the ranch. Everyone was invited.” Jesse shakes his head, powerless. “I thought it was gonna be fun. I was excited.” His voice breaks, and Hanzo tightens his arms around him. Jesse speaks through the tears and the tremors. “I’d never been to anything like it before – got all dressed up and everything. Some of the bigger kids from school were there. Remembered my dad, remembered I was his kid. No one was lookin’ – they dragged me out back and started _wailin’_ on me. I tried to fight back, but I was still so little, and there were like 5 of ‘em.” Jesse shivers as he says, “Not that I remember much.

“Not sure what they were hopin’ for, beatin’ the snot outta some punk with no family, but there they were. My uncles found us. Me on the ground, bloody and screamin’, beggin’ fer it to stop. They just started fuckin’ laughin’ again. _You really stepped in it this time, pendejo_. I think they might have joined in a little, too. That was about when I blacked out.”

Jesse hesitates and gives a half-hearted shrug. “Not much to tell after that. When I woke up, someone had dragged me inside, but I was torn up pretty bad. I hit out in my room and bandaged everything up best I could. I rang in the New Year with Deadlock, and I ain’t looked back since.”

Jesse slumps back into Hanzo’s arms, and Hanzo tries desperately to process. It was a horror story, only there was no monster. Worse, even, than what Genji had to grow up with. The image of scrappy little Jesse comes into his mind, young face marred by bruises and a dead-eyed stare. It is so incongruous with the Jesse in his arms, the Jesse he loves. Hanzo wants to think of something to say, but before he can find words, Jesse starts, violently.

“Jesse-” He’s crying. He’s sobbing, silently and desperately, choking himself on his fingers in an effort to stay quiet. “Jesse, I’m right here, it’s okay. You are okay. I am here.”

The shuddering sound of Jesse’s inhale is a blessing and a curse. Hanzo does his best to hold him through it, murmuring meaningless platitudes as Jesse goes to pieces in his arms. He thinks he says a few things in Japanese, things that he half-remembers being said to him by his mother. It all just means _Let go. I am here. You are safe, now, with me_.

The wrenching, wet breath starts to even out, and Hanzo cannot say how long they have been like this. As the last of the shudders dies, Jesse slumps into Hanzo’s arms, boneless. Hanzo presses kisses into Jesse’s greasy hair as he pants. Jesse doesn’t seem to have anything left to say, so Hanzo speaks.

“I am sorry, Jesse. That is awful. Thank you for telling me.” The words are not enough, not even close to the depth of what he feels, but nothing else appropriate comes to mind. Jesse just nods, letting his head fall back on Hanzo’s shoulder. The silence stretches out. Jesse is drifting away. Hanzo knows he must be exhausted, but he cannot bear to give him up yet, not now.

“When was the last time you ate?” Hanzo asks gently. He can feel Jesse’s sluggish mind working to find the answer.

“Today, I think. Early this mornin’, before you got home.” Jesse does not sound sure.

“Well then, food is in order. Come, up, sit up-” he nudges Jesse forward so he can slip out from behind him.

Jesse grabs at him. “Hanzo don’t – don’t leave-”

Hanzo feels a sickening wave of affection sweep over him. He presses his hands to either side of Jesse’s face, firmly. “I am not going far. But you need to eat, and the others want to know you are safe.”

Jesse’s eyes go a little wild as he says, “Hanzo, they don’t need to know. Please, stay here, with me.”

Hanzo leans down to look Jesse in the eyes. “I am not going anywhere,” he promises. “I am going to stay with you all night. But getting you food is important. I will take care of you. Let me help you.”

Jesse settles, albeit uneasily. Hanzo lets go of him, and passes Jesse the metal arm. He’s tempted to help Jesse put it on – already, he acutely misses the feeling of Jesse’s skin against his, and it would be a good excuse to touch him, and Jesse really _does_ look helpless – but he knows the simple, familiar action will help him to feel normal again. Hanzo casts his eyes around the room for anything else that may be missing. He presses a fierce kiss to the top of Jesse’s head, whispers, “I’ll be right back.” Jesse doesn’t stop him again, but he doesn’t look happy, either.

Hanzo tries not to make a racket as he rushes to the kitchen. He glances at the hall clock and gives himself 5 minutes to get back to Jesse. He needn’t worry about the noise, though – much of the base is still awake in the common room. There is a rush of noise, questions flying at Hanzo from all sides. Hanzo hushes them with a raised hand.

“Jesse is fine. He will be staying in his room tonight, and I will be accompanying him.” That seems to satisfy them – shoulders relax and he sees a few relieved smiles. “Is there any food left?” Mei and Jack scramble to make plates for them both.

“What happened?” Lena asks, worrying at her lower lip.

“Yeah, is he okay?” Lucio asks, turning to Hanzo with wide eyes. _They are so young_ , Hanzo thinks.

“I do not wish to betray his confidence, so I will only say this: Jesse suffered a deep trauma in his adolescence around this time of year. I believe that going forward, it would be respectful to allow him his privacy during this time. I will be taking care of him.” Genji, who has removed his visor but is still lit up brighter than the Christmas tree, exchanges a sly glance with Hana. Hanzo tries not to flush. Hanzo accepts the plates piled high with food with a little bow of his head. He ducks out quickly, mindful of his time. As he passes the hall clock, he is pleased to see he has only been away from Jesse for a few minutes. He fumbles with the door. He can’t get it open. He swears and uses his foot to knock instead.

He can hear Jesse scramble to answer, and the sound squeezes his heart. Jesse answers, smiling. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but it’s a start. He presses a plate to Jesse’s hand instead, herding Jesse back into the room. He directs him to sit on the bed, and Hanzo presses close to him on the floor. He finds his voice to murmur, “I’m sorry that I had to leave you, my love. Everyone is worried, but I have assured them that you will be fine, and that you are not to be disturbed tonight.”

Jesse _hmm_ s gratefully around a mouthful of perfectly fluffy mashed potatoes. (Jack’s contribution, Hanzo guesses.) “You gonna keep me all to yourself?” Jesse has found his usual teasing drawl, and Hanzo has to stop himself from kissing him right there. _Wait_ , he cautions himself. _Be patient. The time will come_.

“I certainly am,” he responds, and is gratified when Jesse blushes.

There is more to discuss – the liquor for one, and how he managed to get back inside without an entire base of trained agents, who had been alerted to his absence, detecting him – but for now he would rather bask in the comfort of Jesse’s presence. Jesse is still distant and hazy, but he is slowly coming back to himself under Hanzo’s watchful eye. Jesse is uncharacteristically quiet while he eats, mouth working slowly and carefully over the rich food, giving Hanzo an opportunity to think for the first time since he arrived back in Gibraltar.

He hears a small burst of laughter from the common room. He can’t help but feel that at least Jesse should be with them, laughing and making merry. But that is not the case, and may never be. It’s a cruel turn of fate, that since his teenage years, this man who is the sun, who could not be more beautiful and more embody the spirit of the Christmas season, has had to seclude himself, hide away and relive his trauma while the world makes happy around him, without him. Hanzo cannot even attempt to enumerate the ways in which it is cosmically _unfair_.

But perhaps it is time for a new tradition. Hanzo has not celebrated this time of year since he was young, and spent 10 years barely aware of the passing of time beyond the changing weather. Now, his life is different – he is different. There is time for celebration and rest, someone to celebrate and rest with. He cannot hide a smile and a blush at the idea of creating his own tradition with Jesse on _this_ day – he hides it behind a cough so Jesse will not see.

But perhaps that is exactly what they need. Jesse will likely never shake this entirely – the scars are too deep, too gnarled over – but Hanzo can always be there. Stay by his side and ensure that Jesse never feels that he has to do this alone ever again.

Hanzo waits until Jesse is finished with his meal – he can’t clear the plate, Jack and Mei went overboard, and Jesse is still not feeling like himself – before he takes Jesse’s dish away, stacks it with his own. He places them both on the floor and moves so that he is kneeling between Jesse’s spread knees. Jesse watches him with wide, loving eyes. Hanzo puts his hands on either side of Jesse’s head again, and Jesse’s hands – Hanzo, even now, savors the feeling of one cold metal and one soft flesh – slip around Hanzo’s waist. Hanzo presses his forehead up to Jesse’s almost roughly, unable to contain himself. He feels tears prickle in his eyes, and he lets them fall. He stays like that, breathing, for a few long moments, making sure Jesse feels it before he says it.

“I love you, Jesse,” Hanzo tells him fiercely. It is the first time he has put it into those words. He has said it with touch and action and eyes, but never aloud like this. The weight of it, the words he has offered to no one but his brother since he was a child, threatens to choke him.

Jesse shares no such reservation. “I love you too, Hanzo – love you so _much_.” Hanzo’s heart speeds up – of course he already knew it, Jesse has never been able to hide how he is feeling – but hearing it aloud, in Jesse’s warm, silky voice, nearly breaks his careful determination. Jesse wipes his tears away gently, and Hanzo kisses his thumb reverently.

They stay like that for a long time, the cheerful sounds of the Christmas party reaching them faintly, wrapping around them. Hanzo resolves to make this his yearly sacrifice, his duty. He will insist on this, on taking Jesse out of himself, holding Jesse together against the monsters that threaten to tear him apart. Jesse will struggle and try to take it on himself, but Hanzo will never let him. That is what he can do. That is what Christmas will mean to them, from now until the end of their days.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of the tags are for this chapter. Emotional, slow, loving sex. Enjoy. <3  
> This chapter picks up exactly where the other one leaves off.

Eventually, Hanzo’s knees start to ache.

“You need to shower, Jesse,” he says, sitting back on his heels. Jesse grimaces. “You will feel better after you’ve bathed.” Jesse pouts and tries to pull Hanzo onto the bed with him. “You will certainly smell better,” Hanzo admonishes, fighting his hands off.

“Kick me while I’m down, why don’t ya,” Jesse mutters. Hanzo feels a flash of hot guilt, but Jesse gets up. Hanzo presses a kiss to his cheek as he works at the places that will release Jesse’s bio-tech arm.

“Shower. I will join you shortly,” Hanzo assures him.

“Thank you, Hanzo,” he says weakly, nosing into the curve of Hanzo’s ear in a way that makes his knees week.

“It is nothing, Jesse. Now _go_.”

Hanzo watches Jesse shuffle into the shower. He is still not quite normal, but that is to be expected. At least he is _Jesse_ , now.

Hanzo begins straightening the room. A clean space will hopefully give Jesse a clean mind. He strips the sheets from the bed first, and dumps them into the hamper. He gathers the spare bits of dirty clothes that are strewn around the bed – Hanzo guesses that Jesse has just been stripping, crawling into bed, and redressing in the same clothes for a few days now. The hamper shuts if Hanzo gives it a little push. He cracks the window above the bed to let the smell of whisky-sweat flush from the room, but he fears it won’t be enough. He grabs their plates from dinner and ducks out of Jesse’s room, moving as quickly as he can. First to the kitchen to leave the empty plates, then to his room where he knows he has a few candles stashed somewhere. He retrieves them and runs back to Jesse’s room, hoping his absence has gone unnoticed.

When he returns, it seems that he’s made it without Jesse noticing. Hanzo turns the harsh overhead light off and sets the candles on the desk. He burns his thumb on the lighter, but it’s worth it for the soft, flickering glow and the soft scent of lavender that takes the room. Next, he hides the whiskey in the bottom of Jesse’s closet. _Out of sight, out of mind_ , he hopes. Next to the whiskey is a stroke of luck – clean sheets. They are worn but sturdy, and still smell of laundry detergent. He makes the bed to military specs, even though he knows Jesse will just laugh. _We’re gettin’ right back in it, sweet pea._

The room appears to be in order. At least, it will do for the plan that is forming in the back of Hanzo’s mind. He strips, hanging his gi on the back of the desk chair. He grabs two clean towels on his way to join Jesse. Apparently, Jesse has barely touched the load that Hanzo washed a few weeks ago.

Steam rolls over him as he opens the bathroom door. Jesse is standing under the hot spray, unmoving. But his face is relaxed, and his shoulders are slumped instead of tense. His eyes flutter open and a slow, easy smile spreads across his face as Hanzo slides in behind him. Hanzo’s heart seizes with affection. Jesse _hmm_ s in welcome as Hanzo lightly runs his fingertips over his arms. Hanzo tries not to let himself linger over the scars. He reaches behind him and pumps shampoo into his hand, stands on his tiptoes in order to reach Jesse’s hair.

Jesse tries to turn around. “Hanzo?”

“May I pamper you tonight, Jesse?” Hanzo murmurs into his ear, pitching his voice in the way he knows turns Jesse pliant and obedient.

“Why, darlin’?” Hanzo can feel Jesse’s chest rumbling where it is pressed against him. “I feel better already – you don’t have to. _Yes_ , that feels good.” Jesse pushes his head into where Hanzo is digging his fingers into Jesse’s scalp.

“It is not about having to, Jesse,” he says, scratching around Jesse’s ears. “I simply wish to help you keep your mind on better things.”

Jesse _hmm_ s again, letting his head fall back. He does not respond, though, so Hanzo asks again. “May I, my love?” For good measure, Hanzo digs his thumbs in at the base of Jesse’s neck.

Jesse outright groans at that. “Can’t believe you’re comin’ after a defenseless little thing like me.”

“Do not be so dramatic, Jesse. I merely wish to show you that I missed you. And perhaps create a holiday tradition that belongs to us alone,” his voice is a hoarse whisper by the end, tangled in emotions he has never felt before.

“Guess I can’t argue with you when you – ah! No, keep going, that’s good – when you’re like this,” Jesse says, and he sounds sheepish. “Can’t deny you anything, darlin’.”

It’s as good as permission Hanzo is likely to get. “Thank you, Jesse.” Hanzo rewards him with a kiss to the top of his shoulder blade.

He shuffles Jesse forward into the shower spray so he can rinse the shampoo from his hair. It comes back to life under Hanzo’s fingertips. The rich, dimensional brown glows even in the harsh, cheap fluorescents of the bathroom. Hanzo lathers his hands with soap next, and starts at Jesse’s shoulders. He runs his hands over every inch of flesh he can reach, gentle. (He is grateful for the massage oil in Jesse’s drawer – some of the knots in Jesse’s back are frighteningly tight.) Jesse whines and groans appreciatively, and by the time Hanzo is ghosting his hands over Jesse’s ass, he sounds like his usual self. Hanzo has to rein himself in – this is about calming Jesse, distracting him, not about sex. Besides, it’s unlikely that Jesse could even maintain an erection with the amout he’s been drinking.

Or not. When Hanzo reaches around to smooth his palms over Jesse’s thick thighs, his fingers brush against Jesse’s cock, beginning to swell. Jesse gasps and pushes into the touch.

“You have been drinking, Jesse,” he admonishes. Hanzo presses the words into Jesse’s skin and moves his hands away from the temptation.

“Not that much,” Jesse whines as Hanzo drags his fingernails across Jesse’s stomach.

“The bottle was half empty.”

“I uh – well,” and he bites his lip as Hanzo’s hands slide lightly over his nipples, the way slick with soap, “honestly I drank a lot of it yesterday. I had kinda just started when ya found me.”

Hanzo quirks his brow and considers it as he continues pressing his hands over Jesse’s chest and abs. He cannot take advantage of Jesse’s vulnerability; that is paramount. But Jesse does not seem intoxicated, not even as drunk as he was when Hanzo found him.  However, his emotional state is fragile, and has been for days, likely has been since Hanzo left. That’s as good as being drunk, perhaps worse. (Neither of them are strangers to liquor, having sex while intoxicated, or lying with each other after overindulging.)

“What do you want?” Hanzo eventually asks, rubbing circles into the pulse points at Jesse’s wrists.

“I just want you to keep touching me,” Jesse mumbles, shivering. “We can do whatever you want as long as you stay with me.”

Hanzo holds back a shudder at the raw honesty in his voice. “I will not leave,” he promises quickly, pressing kisses across Jesse’s back.

“But I’ve missed you bad, doll,” Jesse continues. He’s just speaking, but Hanzo feels like Jesse is trying to turn him inside out with every syllable. “Just having your hands on me is almost more than I can handle. Ya feel so _good_ ,” he moans. “You’re burnin’ me up.”

“ _Jesse_ ,” Hanzo hisses as his own cock swells.

“I know I fucked up -” Jesse voice turns sad, again.

Hanzo interrupts him. “You did _nothing_ wrong, Jesse,” he says fiercely, wrapping his arms around him.

Jesse huffs a breathless little laugh. “Well then don’t punish me, darlin’. Let me have you,” he purrs, voice bouncing around the walls of the shower and baffling Hanzo’s better sense.

Hanzo stands up on his tip toes and presses a harsh kiss to Jesse’s neck. “Very well. But we have to finish washing, first,” he demands.

Hanzo re-lathers his hands and trades places with Jesse so he can quickly wash himself. Jesse’s hands wander, threatening to distract him, until Hanzo slaps him away. He trades their places again so he can condition Jesse’s hair. Jesse whines for Hanzo to hurry, but Hanzo is undeterred. The feeling of soft, clean hair is too delicious. Jesse’s hair, resolutely, perpetually, and almost intentionally unkempt, being tamed by Hanzo’s gentle touches. Hanzo is possessed with the obsession to do the same to every inch of the man – to take every broken, rough edge and make it soft and beautiful, like the soul that this perfect body houses.

Hanzo rushes through washing his own hair so he can get his hands back on Jesse. He turns Jesse around to face him, letting the hot water pound at Jesse’s back. Jesse immediately dives in for a kiss, and Hanzo humors him, if only to distract him. Hanzo slides his soaped up fingers between Jesse’s cheeks, cleaning him thoroughly and efficiently. Jesse whines and begs him to keep going. Hanzo takes his hand off Jesse, but is having trouble remembering why he should.

“No, Jesse. Not yet,” he whispers.

“Hanzo, _please_ , baby, I need it,” Jesse persists, pushing into Hanzo’s touch. Hanzo shivers as Jesse’s cock, now fully hard, brushes against his own.

“Jesse, we have been apart for nearly two weeks. I have no intention of wasting our reunion on rushed shower hand jobs,” he reasons, sanity going down the drain with the water as Jesse rubs his thumb against Hanzo’s hipbone.

“You know I can go more than once in a night, honey. Especially as keyed up as I am right now.” The usual croon is gone from Jesse’s voice, replaced by desperate whining that crawls into the deepest part of Hanzo’s chest and coils there. “I’m desperate for you to touch me, baby.” And then, Jesse says the magic words. “I _want_ it.”  

 _One_ rushed shower hand job won’t hurt.

Hanzo grasps his cock roughly, and replaces his fingers against Jesse’s hole. Jesse response is visceral; he yelps and grasps Hanzo’s shoulder, thrusting his hips. Hanzo lets him, keeps his hand a tight ring. He ghosts his fingers against Jesse’s entrance again, making him gasp and shudder. Jesse will not last long, and Hanzo selfishly pushes him closer to the edge by biting at his nipples. Jesse is loud, the loudest he has been in bed for a long time. Hanzo fleetingly hopes that someone is around to hear.

Suddenly, Jesse’s hips start to stutter. His fingernails drag over Hanzo’s back and ass, leaving stinging lines that Hanzo cherishes. “Come on, Jesse. Come for me,” he murmurs. Jesse _screams_ and Hanzo feels his release splatter hot against his stomach.

Hanzo strokes him through it, Jesse shivering from over stimulation, whining when Hanzo tries to move away. Finally, he calms, and blindly seeks Hanzo’s lips for a kiss. Hanzo lets him, enjoying the feeling of Jesse’s hot, uncoordinated tongue rolling inside his mouth. When Jesse reaches for his erection, he pulls away to rinse his hand.

“No,” Hanzo commands. “Out.” He shuts off the shower and steps out before Jesse can protest. Jesse grumbles a little, but goes easily enough, especially when Hanzo takes his hands and presses gentle kisses to each of his knuckles. Hanzo revels in the head to toe shudder that Jesse rewards him with. Hanzo directs Jesse to stand on the mat, and grabs the softer of the two towels. He starts at Jesse’s shoulders, realizing too late he should have grabbed an extra one for his hair. He gently rubs the water away, efficiently. Jesse squirms as he rubs his stomach, “I’m ticklish, honey,” but Hanzo only smiles and moves on. He crouches down to dry Jesse’s legs and feet, working slowly and methodically, reverently. Jesse watches him, shifting from foot to foot.

“Hanzo,” he starts.

“Hush,” Hanzo murmurs into the curve above his knee. “Let me take care of you.” Jesse shivers again, but does not protest further. Hanzo looks up and his heart nearly stops. There are tears gathering in Jesse’s warm eyes, and he’s smiling at Hanzo like the morning sun. Hanzo abandons all pretense and presses a gentle kiss to the top of each of Jesse’s feet. Jesses breath hitches, and Hanzo is emboldened by the sound. He lifts one of Jesse’s feet and holds it. Jesse has to brace himself against the wall of the shower. Hanzo presses his mouth firmly against the curve of Jesse’s ankle, licking over the bone that juts out. He digs his thumb into the arch of Jesse’s foot, and Jesse whimpers, and his head falls back against the shower door, making it rattle dangerously. Hanzo is unbothered. Hanzo kisses down the line of his foot, finishing by kissing the top of his big toe. Jesse laughs weakly. Hanzo places his foot down, and he can tell that Jesse expects him to finish, to stand up and lead him to the bedroom. So Hanzo just picks up his other foot.

“ _Hanzo_ ,” Jesse moans. “Please.”

Hanzo does not respond – can think of nothing relevant to say. Nothing is more important than taking Jesse apart, starting with this. This time, he scrapes his teeth lightly over the top of Jesse’s foot. Jesse jerks and Hanzo almost loses his grip. Hanzo leans low and presses his tongue against the side of Jesse’s foot, along the arch again. Hanzo risks a look up and suppresses a grin. Jesse’s hand is pressed against his mouth to stifle his weak moans, and a few tears have fallen across his cheeks. Jesse looks halfway to wrecked and his cock isn’t even hard again yet. Hanzo kisses each of Jesse’s toes, ignoring Jesse’s embarrassed huffs. Finally, Hanzo declares himself done. He stands, grabs the second clean towel, and dries himself off while Jesse pants. Hanzo indulges himself in watching Jesse for a few moments. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes are closed, and his strong, wide chest is heaving. Again, the tide of _adoration_ threatens to sweep Hanzo away.

Hanzo takes Jesse’s hand, rubbing his thumb against Jesse’s palm. Jesse’s eyes flutter open and search for him. “Hanzo…” he says again, at a loss to do anything else.

“Come. I am not done with you yet.”

Hanzo leads Jesse into the bedroom, and the room smells lovely now, the lavender purging Jesse’s binge. Jesse’s eyes soften at the sight of the candles, the fresh sheets.

“Hanzo, you’re so – you didn’t have to go to all this trouble, darlin’ –“

“It wasn’t any trouble, my love,” Hanzo insists, knowing what the pet name will do to Jesse. He likes to watch it happen; watch Jesse’s lips turn upward, watch him preen under the words, watch him try to stifle the reaction. Hanzo loves every single micro-expression.

“Hanzo…” he says again. Hanzo doesn’t have anything to say to that. He drops the towel somewhere he will be able to reach it later, and lays Jesse down on the bed, ignoring Jesse’s hands that try to pull him down. He rummages through Jesse’s unorganized drawer for the massage oil he knows is there. He tries not to rush – there is no need, he knows this, but he’s desperate to feel Jesse’s warm, _alive_ skin under his fingers. His hands finally close around the little tube.

When Jesse sees that Hanzo has grabbed the oil, and not the lube, he whines. “Hanzo, no, please. I don’t need that – I just want _you_.”

It takes every ounce of Hanzo’s long-practiced restraint not to give in and take Jesse then and there. “And you will have me. But first, let me do this for you. I assure you, I derive as much pleasure from this as you do.” He descends on Jesse slowly, straddling his hips. He rubs the oil over and between his fingers, letting the scent roll over them both. He starts at Jesse’s pecs, digging his fingers into the meat of the muscle and rubbing outwards, encouraging the release of tension. Jesse sighs.

“Your hands are amazing,” he breathes out. Hanzo smiles at the praise but does not respond – there is too much warm, soft, clean skin in front of him, he can’t think. He works Jesse’s arms, next, one at a time. He lingers on Jesse’s hands, working the muscles and bones of his palm away from each other, rubbing each finger. He can’t remember why he knows this, but he knows that people tend to carry tension in their hands. By the time he finishes, Jesse’s breath is deep and even, and his eyes have slipped closed. His expression is one of bliss, open and relaxed and serene. Occasionally, but only occasionally, he moans a little.

Hanzo runs his hands along Jesse’s stomach, but Jesse laughs and squirms away. He moves on to Jesse’s thighs quickly, unwilling to disrupt Jesse’s meditative state. He lets his nails drag in the wake of the pressure, and Jesse shudders and whines helplessly. He finishes his legs without ceremony, eager to work on the real problems in Jesse’s back.

“Roll over for me, darling,” Hanzo says, pressing a kiss to Jesse’s brow.

Jesse struggles to follow instructions with only one arm, and Hanzo can tell he’s gone rubbery and soft with relaxation and stifles a flush of pride. Hanzo takes pity on him and helps Jesse roll onto his stomach.

First, Hanzo works Jesse’s calves and the backs of his legs, moving through the motions quickly. Hanzo admires the dusting of hair, nosing his way across it, taking in the salty-sweet smell of Jesse’s skin.  He ghosts his hands over Jesse’s ass, and laughs when Jesse musters the energy to push into Hanzo’s hands. Hanzo gives him a playful little swat as he straddles him once again, across the tops of this thighs. Hanzo takes a moment to indulge in the thickness of Jesse’s body spreading his legs apart.

Hanzo puts more oil on his hands and spreads it evenly across Jesse’s back, reveling in the dark skin and thick muscle, the broad strength of _Jesse_ spread beneath him. He begins working at the knots on either side of his spine. Jesse lets out a sharp breath, but Hanzo persists.

“Breathe,” Hanzo reminds him gently, digging his thumbs roughly into the tight knot. Jesse complies shakily, taking deep breaths as Hanzo talks him through it. When Hanzo needs to take a break, he rewards Jesse by smoothing his hands over and around the area, murmuring praise as be begins to repeat the cycle.

He does it 2 more times on that knot, 2 on the one that mirrors it on the other side of his spine, and 6 on a particularly stubborn gnarl near the base of his spine. Hanzo thoroughly inspects Jesse’s back for more bits of tension, but he doesn’t find them. He finally gives into temptation and digs his fingers into the enticing swell of Jesse’s ass. Jesse moans appreciatively, arching back into the touch. Hanzo loves the way the soft skin gives at his touch, moves and shifts in a way that that the other muscles don’t. It’s _plush_ , and Hanzo wants his mouth on it. He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to the middle of his left cheek. Jesse’s breath stutters. Tension is returning to Jesse’s frame, but of a kind that Hanzo is for happier with.

Hanzo continues, leaving nips and kisses and licks across the skin. When he can no longer help himself, he takes a section of skin at the place where his ass meets his leg and _sucks_ on it. 

Finally, Jesse moans. “Hanzo, baby, please –“

“I know, my love, I know,” he murmers urgently, pulling Jesse’s cheeks apart. The sight of the tight bud, this intimate, secret part, takes Hanzo’s breath away. He gently presses kisses around it, breathes over it to watch him twitch, lets Jesse whine and struggle.

“Don’t _tease_ me, darlin’, please, I can’t take it.” Jesse is thrusting against the mattress. Hanzo gives him another little spank.

“Patience is a virtue, Jesse,” he purrs, watching his tone send a shiver up Jesse’s spine. Jesse whines, wordlessly, and thrashes. “Do you want me to stop?” Hanzo’s voice has the barest edge of threat to it.

“ _No,_ fuck, please, please, _Hanzo!”_ Jesse almost squeals as Hanzo roughly spreads him apart. Hanzo slowly dips down to flatten his tongue against Jesse’s hole – even freshly clean, the smell is powerful. The emotional memory alone would be enough to make Hanzo’s head spin, but the deep, rich, concentrated scent and taste here makes Hanzo lose his fragile mind. Jesse is quivering beneath him, biting the pillow. Hanzo takes pleasure in drawing Jesse back into his body, away from the head-floating unresponsiveness he had worked him to. Hanzo narrows his tongue and pushes in, and Jesse nearly screams. It’s Hanzo’s undoing. He licks his way inside his lover, driven to madness by the one-man symphony that is Jesse in ecstasy. He tries to pretend it’s just because Jesse wants him to, but he gives that up as a waste of time when Jesse starts begging him.

“What do you want?” Hanzo says, and he shivers when he realizes can still taste Jesse on his tongue.

“I don’t know!” Jesse sounds utterly wrecked, and Hanzo notices that he’s pulling at his own hair. That won’t due. Hanzo kisses his way up Jesse’s spine to whisper in his ear.

“Jesse, may I finger you?” He tries to keep his voice from shaking, wants to stop himself from rutting against Jesse’s ass. He fails on both counts.

“Yes – _please_ fuck me, I can’t – I need you, _please!_ ” Jesse tries to turn around, but Hanzo holds him in place with a firm hand on the small of his back. He scrambles for the lube, but remembers what tonight is about at the last moment. He presses a gentle kiss to Jesse’s shoulders as he slicks his fingers. Jesse whines and begs, but Hanzo has regained his composure, at least for the moment. He presses his index finger in, slowly, gently, but he realizes he needn’t be so careful. Jesse is pliant, soft, loose. Hanzo doesn’t give him more, though – just slides his finger in and out at an easy, even pace. He doesn’t give Jesse another until he calms again. It takes long minutes of slow thrusting and kisses to the back of Jesse’s neck and shoulders. Hanzo delights in exploring the sun-tanned, rich, freckled skin, and he can’t resist the temptation to leave a few marks of his own. When Hanzo fits another finger in, Jesse’s only response is to huff and shuffle his legs further apart.

“ _Good_ , Jesse,” Hanzo can’t help but praise. “You’re being so good for me.” The words fall from his mouth without having to think about it. He knows his patience is close to snapping; he is so _desperate_ to give Jesse exactly what he wants, over and over and over again until they both need another shower.

“Hanzo, ‘m ready, please,” Jesse mumbles, pushing back onto Hanzo’s two fingers. Hanzo bites the inside of his lip, trying to _think_ past the _tight hot wet needy_ heaven that is Jesse’s ass. He does feel ready, and Jesse has never minded a little burn. Hanzo decides to move forward before he cannot decide anything at all.

“Okay, darling, turn over for me. I want to see you.” Jesse shudders and turns around, though his muscles are still like putty.

Jesse’s face, now, like this, is the most beautiful thing Hanzo has seen in his life. The flush of Jesse’s skin compliments his dark complexion. His mouth is open and soft around gentle pants. His eyes though – his eyes are dazed, and Hanzo gets the feeling Jesse has no idea what his surroundings are. There are fresh tears trickling into his beard, and Hanzo has to stop what he’s doing in order to kiss and lick at them. Most beautifully of all, Jesse just _lets_ him. No pawing, no squirming away, no attempt to wrestle for control. Jesse is finally letting Hanzo take care of him. Accepting the love that Hanzo is so desperate to give him, without distraction, without hiding. Without guilt.

The knowledge vices around his heart, and he feels tears start to rise in his own eyes as well. He blinks them away – time enough for that, later. He slicks himself quickly, shivering at the attention to his long neglected cock. He holds himself against Jesse’s entrance, just a tease, just to see. Jesse does not tense, only moans loudly and spreads his legs wider, begging wordlessly.

Hanzo presses in slowly, intending to bottom out in one, smooth thrust. Jesse is whining for Hanzo to go faster, to fuck him properly, but Hanzo is not swayed. He dusts kisses across Jesse’s chest, and Jesse brings his arm up to tangle in Hanzo’s hair. Hanzo cannot help but groan appreciatively as Jesse’s fists tightens around the strands at the base of his neck.

Hanzo uses every ounce of patience available to him to keep going slow. (It’s almost impossible with the way he can feel Jesse’s heartbeat where it pulses around his dick.) He wants Jesse to be unable to think of anything else, selfishly wants to burn every sensation out of Jesse that isn’t _Hanzo_. Finally, his hips are pressed snug against Jesse, and they moan into each other mouths. Hanzo pulls back just as slow, but only an inch or so, feeling Jesse open and give way.

“Hanzo, baby, yes, _yes_ , I love you, more, please.” Jesse’s mouth is going as fast as he can, but he remains loose and pliant.

“I know, Jesse. I will give you what you need, my love.” Hanzo kisses Jesse’s neck over and over again, reveling in Jesse’s sweat and the massage oil that lingers.

Jesse’s eyes roll back in his head at that, and he gives in. He wraps his legs around Hanzo’s hips and his head falls back, eyes closed around the tears that are falling, big and heavy from his eyes. He is moaning, chest-rumbling on every one, Hanzo can feel it where they are pressed together. Jesse is so damn beautiful. So perfect.

Hanzo breaks. He brushes Jesse’s hair from his face, presses his ear to Jesse’s chest so he can feel his heartbeat there, too. “I love you,” he says again, lips and teeth and tongue burning around the weight of the words. Jesse moans and bucks up, so Hanzo says it again. “I love you, I love you, Jesse, I love you so _much_.” Tears fall freely from his eyes, running hot onto Jesse’s chest. He thrusts a little bit faster, something that can be called thrusting, rather than teasing. Jesse urges him on by tightening his grip on his hair.

Out of the corner of his eye, Hanzo spots the scars of the cigarette burns on Jesse’s arm. Hanzo growls possessively. _No. Mine_. The thoughts sweep through him irrationally. He bites down harshly on Jesse’s neck, sucking a dark bruise high, where everyone will be able to see. Jesse’s breath stutters and his hips start to rise and meet each of Hanzo’s thrusts.

When Jesse is whining and squirming away from Hanzo’s mouth, he finally releases him. Hanzo feels a flash of satisfaction at how it looks almost _painful,_ raised from Jesse’s skin. He kisses it again and again, pressing his tongue into it so Jesse will cry out and scream his name.

And that, this perfect, beautiful, broken man screaming for him, is the last straw. He hefts Jesse’s hips up and fucks him hard and fast, knowing this is the angle to hit the little switch inside Jesse. He’s sure he has it when Jesse chokes on his own tongue and starts tugging Hanzo’s hair so hard it _hurts_. Jesse is screaming and moaning so loud he knows everyone can hear, and he doesn’t care, can’t care past the own noises he can’t hold back. He presses his mouth to Jesse’s ear, wanting to make sure Jesse knows he’s falling apart too

“Can you come like this, Jesse?” Hanzo is shocked at the way his voice comes out in a growl, but he _loves_ the way it makes Jesse’s breath catch.

“Yeah, baby,” he slurs. He manages to say, “You’re so good, honey, I’ve never felt this way before, I love you, I fuckin’ love you, Hanzo!” He continues like that until Hanzo is lost in in, lost in his words and his breath and the _tight hot desperate_ place where they are joined together.

Eventually, Jesse starts thrashing, and his eyes go hazy and far away. Hanzo recognizes it as Jesse reaching orgasm. Hanzo grips his hips tightly, knowing he won’t last through Jesse’s face as he climaxes. He murmurs Jesse’s name over and over again, kissing and biting every place he can reach. Jesse responds by throwing his head back and screaming, wordlessly.

Hanzo feels it almost before Jesse does, in the way he tightens and in the stutter of his breath. Then, Jesse is coming, violently and loud. His eyes are clenched shut, and the line of his throat is taut and gorgeous in the candlelight and moonlight. Hanzo was right – how could any man not lose himself at that sight?

Hanzo weeps Jesse’s name over and over and over as his orgasm crests. Hanzo pulls out at the last second, adding his spend to Jesse’s. Jesse shudders and cries out again at the feeling, of Hanzo’s still hard and leaking cock brushing against his own soft one. Jesse is shivering in overstimulation – just because he can go twice in a night doesn’t mean it’s easy. Hanzo murmurs praise into his skin as he retrieves the damp towel to clean Jesse’s overheated, sweaty skin. He tries not to enjoy the way Jesse shudders and wines as he drags the towel around where they have made a mess together.

He throws the towel to the ground and stands, admiring the way Jesse is still panting. He blows the candles out and closes the window, then carefully shuffles the blankets down around Jesse without disturbing him. Jesse tries halfheartedly to help, but Hanzo tells him to “Lie still, love. I am here.” He tucks the covers around Jesse and climbs in, adjusting so he can wrap Jesse in his arms, pressing his chest tightly to Jesse’s back so he can feel his breath evening out.

Jesse tries to say something, but he’s already falling asleep. “Sleep, my love. Tomorrow,” he says, pressing kisses down the back of Jesse’s neck. Jesse hums and laughs, settling down.

He stays conscious just long enough to say, “I love you, Hanzo.” The ache in Hanzo’s chest intensifies and he cannot speak for a few long moments.

Jesse is asleep by the time Hanzo says, “I love you too, Jesse.” Hanzo knows Jesse hears him anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! As I said, this is my first fic so I still need a lot of help. Anything constructive will be appreciated!  
> This was partially inspired by Hang the Fool, so if you notice any similarities, that's why.  
> Big ups to my friend kendershire on tumblr. She is the main reason this fic exists.  
> I'm hamletsprozaoc on tumblr, too - come say hi!  
> I'm working on a McHanzo college AU too, so keep a lookout for that.  
> I think that's everything relevant. Happy holidays and happy new year!  
> \- Hamlet


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